Page 27 of Second to None

“Yes,” I said simply.

He barked out a laugh, then sobered. “Look, it’s your call. Obviously. But to quote someone extremely smart: it’s often the things you didn’t do that you regret the most.”

The hint of humour in his tone gave me pause. I raised an eyebrow. “And when did you say that?”

“Just something I told Cass a few weeks ago.”

“Did you?”

“Yup.” He didn’t offer more details, and I didn’t press. “So,” he added after a beat, his smile softer now, almost hopeful. “Think about it, yeah?”

I would. Whether I liked it or not.

* * *

Beverly Hills,Friday, August 15

My first year with Emily had been the hardest. I’d been twenty-five, twenty-six, still trying to glue my own life back together. Each time I blinked, I remembered my sister, pale as a ghost in her hospital bed, the relentless beeps of monitors and the smell of antiseptics cloying my senses.

And suddenly, I was responsible for this tiny, silent girl.

I’d loved her to pieces but felt hopelessly out of my depth, scared to mess up, scared she wouldn’t accept me. My parents had tried to help but they were overwhelmed, caught between grieving for their daughter and my grandmother’s rapidly deteriorating Alzheimer’s disease. Maybe the only reason I’d been able to step up was because there was no other option.

The first time Emily had snuck into my bed had been well past midnight. The shift of the mattress woke me, and then she tucked herself up against my arm, little hands curling into my T-shirt. I didn’t dare move—afraid she’d disappear, afraid to fall asleep, to roll over and accidentally squash this small, precious person. In the morning, she didn’t say anything and neither did I, but when I dropped her off at school, she gave me a hug when before, it had always been me initiating one. I’d blinked back tears and then didn’t stop smiling the entire drive home.

This time, when the door inched open, I was still awake. I’d been working on one of Cosma’s songs, laptop on my knees, lights off and overlooking LA’s glimmering cityscape from where I was perched on the massive bed in Mason’s guest room. The creative buzz was just wearing off, tiredness settling around my shoulders, when Emily slipped in.

“Hi,” she whispered like it was a secret. Her timid smile put me at ease. Nothing wrong, it seemed. Just jet lag and an overdose of sugar.

“Hey, monkey.” I set the laptop aside and opened my arms. “Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head and climbed in with me, hugging me around the middle. Her curls tickled my chin. “I was just thinking, you know?”

”About?”

“It’s unfair, isn’t it?” She paused like I was meant to agree.

“Many things are.” I grinned, waggling my brows for effect. “What are we talking about?”

“How people made Elsa feel bad about her powers. It’s not like she couldhelphaving them. And it’s kind of cool, isn’t it? Making it snow.”

My little justice warrior. I kissed the top of Emily’s head before I replied. “Sometimes people are scared of things that are different. They think it’s easier to just ignore them, much easier than trying to understand.”

“That’s lazy,” she said, her decisive tone carrying a faint echo of my dad’s disapproval at the concept of people who slept past seven. Such as me. And Emily.

“I guess it is,” I agreed.

She was silent for a few seconds, clearly mulling something over. “Am I different?” she asked then. “Because you’re like my dad and you’re famous?”

Something lodged sideways in my chest. “I’m really not that famous anymore, sweetheart. Why do you ask? Is there someone who makes you feel different?”

“Not really,” she said. “Just, like, Joey always says it’s weird that my dad likes boys. But I just tell him his face is weird.”

She sounded proud of herself, and I didn’t have the heart to admonish her. Honestly, her classmate Joey deserved worse—the kid was a spoiled brat, although maybe that was more the parents’ fault. Can’t blame a seven-year-old boy for acting like a unique, entitled snowflake when that’s the storyline he’s been fed at home. Yes, Emily was my precious princess, but if she whined about having to practise for a spelling test, I didn’t call the teacher about her workload; I told her to pull up her big girl socks because life was no walk in the park.

“That’s fair.” I hugged her a little closer. “You know, it took me a while to admit that I like boys. I did worry that people would treat me differently.”

She digested that. “But it’s fine, right?”

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